


The Changeling

by ThereWasStillTime



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-28
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 19:57:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13174119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereWasStillTime/pseuds/ThereWasStillTime
Summary: Post COE. Robin and Strike have a new case. A child is missing and DI Carver has charged the mother. when Strike and Cormoran agree to take up the case can they avoid the wrath of their nemesis and find the truth before tragedy strikes?





	1. Chapter 1

Robin hurried across Oxford Street, she was late for her coffee with Matthew. She had been tailing a   
target since the early hours of the morning and he had diverted from his usual routine. Robin, felt she couldn’t just leave him so that she would punctually make the time she and Mathew had decided on, just in case this divergence led to some crucial information. However, it had come to nothing and the man had simply had a late-morning dentist appointment. 

As she ran-walked, she checked for the envelope in her pocket, the paranoia of all Londoners of pickpocketing pricked at her mind but it was still where she had placed it at the cash point. She arrived at the Costa’s they had agreed on and pushed open the heavy glass door. Robin looked around and saw Matthew sitting on a stool at the window watching the passers-by resolutely. 

‘Matt?’ Robin voice wavered slightly.

He turned towards her as if the last thing he wanted to do was lay his eyes on her. She raised the corners of her mouth in a small smile.

‘Hi’, his voice was flat and showed no hint of being pleased to see her.

‘Hi. How are you?’ and then as she realised she didn’t want to know the answer she quickly added, ‘I’m sorry I’m late - thanks for waiting.’

‘Well…I didn’t have much choice did I.” he muttered.

Robin decided it was best to ignore this, as she suspected he wasn’t just talking about their coffee date. Instead she focused on keeping the friendly smile plastered to her face, there was no way she was allowing this to turn into a confrontation now, ‘I won’t keep you much longer. I have the rest of the money here, that’s the whole honeymoon paid off. We got a big pay out for the Laing story we…I did for a journalist contact at the Sun. I wanted your Dad to have it as soon as possible.’ 

She took the thick envelop out of her pocket and slid it towards him along the bar. He didn’t speak but opened the envelop and then counted each, and every note in front of her. She fought to hold back her irritation as she suspected after nearly a decade of knowing Matthew that this was all an attempt to get a rise out of her. His phone began to ring in his pocket and he gathered the notes together stuffing them back in the envelop before grabbing the phone from the breast pocket of his suit. He looked at the caller id and smiled smugly to himself. She caught a glimpse of a picture of a young woman on the screen before he lifted the phone to his ear and she could have sworn is was Sarah bloody Shadlock.

‘Hi Babe,’ His tone was excited and intimate and Robin faintly shook her head, ‘Yeah… Yep…love you too, I’ll see you tonight.’

Robin turned her face towards the window so he wouldn’t see her roll her eyes. He replaced the phone and put the envelop into his inside pocket. Deciding it was easier to ignore the phone call she said, ‘Thanks for meeting me anyway – I didn’t want to send you a check as I just wanted you to know you had the money.’

For a second a look of disappointment flickered across his face, ‘Well, with Strike you never know if it could bounce,’ he said sardonically not realising that this predictability was exactly why Robin had wanted to hand the money over to him as soon as it had hit the business account.

Robin looked at her watch scrabbling for an excuse to leave as quickly as possible – she felt like she had standing at the altar with him - desperate for an escape, ‘Right…I have to go I have a meeting in 30 minutes,’ she knew this was the best way to get back at Matthew, by rubbing her success in his face but then a stab of guilt made her say, ‘Thanks again for waiting…good luck Matt.’ She didn’t wait for him to reply but turned away quickly and strode towards the door. She took a gulp of air and resisted throwing her arms in the air. She was finally and completely free of any obligation to Matthew.

At the altar, it hadn’t been quite so easy. 

As she smiled into Cormoran’s bruised face the sick feeling that had plagued her for the last two days before the wedding dissipated, only then to crash back over her with twice the force. She visibly went green and looked back at Matthew whose face turned from dark anger to dawning realisation. She slid her hand from his and looked desperately towards the altar away from the many eyes now boring into her back, waiting to see what would happen next. 

‘I now pronoun…’

Before he could finish Robin faintly shook her head and after he looked from Robin’s distraught face to Matthew’s disgusted expression, the vicar, who had seen this a few times in his career, although not quite so dramatically, whispered to them, ‘Would you like a minute?’

The spell that held Robin in suspended animation was suddenly broken by the gentle touch of a hand cupping her shoulder, ‘Yes, yes…I think they need one,’ her mother’s tone was insistent and firm, as was her touch as she pushed Robin to the side so she began to follow the vicar who was walking towards the door at the side of the altar. Robin hardly dared to look at her mother, so scared of seeing anger or disappointment in her eyes. As Matthew followed the vicar into his office. Robin stopped and turned back to her mother who squeezed her hand, just like at any time in her life when she had needed guidance, there was her mother’s acceptance, ‘Remember Robin, your father and I support you in everything you do as long as it makes you happy. Just make sure you do what will make you happy.’

Robin nodded almost imperceptibly before turning away and following Matthew and the vicar inside.

The scene in the vicar’s office was everything Robin had feared. Matthew cried. He shouted. But, she just couldn’t be swayed this time. She couldn’t…didn’t want to marry him. The vicar left so that he could inform the congregation – there was another wedding in fifteen minutes and if he didn’t move quickly the day’s schedule would be royally fucked. 

She had known it for weeks but had been too frightened to tell herself or anyone the truth. The ecstatic happiness she had felt at seeing Strike and realising she may not had lost her job, had been what she should have felt about marrying Matthew, rather than the suffocating anxiety she had suffered from since getting in the Land Rover with him and leaving London. In the end, Matthew had hurriedly left the room. She heard her mother’s sympathetic, ‘Matthew…’ but there was no response. Then her mother was there beside Robin, wrapping her arms around her, as the young woman buried her head into her shoulder and cried tears of relief.  
Robin hadn’t realised that she could feel freer after that moment but now she had moved out of their flat and her debts for the wedding had been paid by her half of the fee from The Sun to her parents and Matthew’s father she felt she could firmly draw a line under the last 9 years of her life. She felt so light, she was sure her feet hardly touched the ground during the quick walk back to office in Denmark Street. She was oblivious to the lost tourists, the shoulders of aggressive passers-by and mother’s using their pushchairs as bulldozers, as they manoeuvred down the busy shopping street. Over the last few months Robin had finally allowed herself to voice the reality that Matthew had been the last crutch of her recovery after the rape she had suffered in her first year of University. Only until she had experienced the confidence and success working for Strike had she finally realised that marriage to Matthew had been the dream of the girl who had been too afraid to take back control of her life and had let Matthew steer her from one choice to the next.

Her choice of training to be a private detective had never sat comfortably with him – far from it – his glee at the thought that Strike had severed their working relationship forever, had sealed the realisation for Robin that he never would accept her choice. When Cormoran walked into Masham Church, she realised she would either need to let go of her dream job, or Matthew. So, it had been Matthew. Neither of them would have been happy otherwise. It was exactly what Strike had warned her about, even though he had never pressured her into making a decision, unlike Matthew had time and time again. 

After the wedding-that-wasn’t, when Robin had finally needed to call Cormoran, his Caller ID hadn’t appeared and after a few more seconds of investigating she realised her entire call history and texts from Strike had been deleted. An image of Matthew borrowing her phone at the service station days before had flashed in her mind and at that moment she realised just how blind she had been to Matthew’s controlling nature. It had developed so subtlety over time she had simply accepted it as a facet of the way their relationship worked. Now, she realised he had been emotionally abusing her for years, probably since before the rape. She hoped with satisfaction, as she neared the office, that Matthew deeply regretted answering the phone to her when she called him to confront him over it. She had felt so guilty about leaving him at the altar but did he now understand why his behaviour had made it necessary?

Robin skipped up the metal steps to the office and almost threw open the door on the third floor. As she rushed towards Cormoran’s office she heard grave voices in conversation.

As she stepped into the room, the voices stopped and the two men inside looked towards her, ‘Hello. I’m sorry I’m late I was caught up on another job. Robin Ellacott,’ she held out her hand to the man sitting opposite Cormoran. 

‘Hi, Jonathan Grant, nice to meet you at last.’

They shook hands before Robin removed her jacket, draping it over the back of a chair and sat down next to Cormoran. There was now a set of meeting chairs in the office and the desk had been pushed into a corner so that they could interview clients together. Robin glanced at Strike who was watching her with a raised eyebrow: she could tell he was trying to read her expression to gage how her meeting with Matthew had gone. She smiled politely at Jonathan and then looked expectantly towards Cormoran.

‘Jonathan was telling me that his wife is understandably not doing well, she is on suicide watch.’ 

Robin nodded and looked back towards Jonathan Grant sympathetically, waiting for him to continue.

‘Losing our child has been very difficult for us both, not knowing where he is, whether he is …but being accused of his…murder and then hiding the…body…it’s just…unbelievable.’

The case of the missing eight-year-old, Arlo Grant, had gripped the country for the last 4 months. It had been reported that the boy had been playing in his back garden with his sister, who was just a toddler, while his mother, Olivia, had popped next door to visit the neighbour. She had thought that they were safe in the garden as she was the same distance away from them as she had been in her own house. But, as she drank coffee with her friend, the screams of the toddler could suddenly be heard – terrifying and urgent. Once she and the neighbour, entered the garden Arlo was gone, leaving his sister sat on the ground, face red and wet with unbound screams. They had searched the garden and the fenced-off pond before calling the police. The police and locals had searched the local area for the 48 hours. Arlo still was not found. Suspects were hauled in to police stations but nothing stuck. Now two months later Olivia Grant had been arrested and charged with the murder of her own child. 

‘She had post-natal depression after the birth of our daughter, Mia, I think that’s why the police began to suspect her. It was very hard for her to show emotion and Ellen, our neighbour told the police Olivia…admitted to thinking that she would somehow harm Mia. The day Arlo was taken, she had gone next door because she was so fraught she couldn’t trust herself with the baby and had left Mia on a blanket, telling Arlo she was just going to see Auntie Ellen, for a moment. The police now think that she actually had…h…harmed Arlo before this and going in to see Ellen was a rouse to cover up what she had done. But…’ Jonathan Grant tried desperately to control the sobs threatening to overcome him, so he could get to the end of the horrible story, ‘…it is unthinkable that she did it. Olivia loves our children. She loves them. Before Mia was born, she and Arlo were so close and she told me how desperate she was for Mia to her love but the depression made it so difficult for her to bond.’

Robin understood just how debilitating depression could be, how it could rob you of feeling close to those you loved. She briefly read the neutral expression on Strike’s face, he was sympathetic but as usual was not making any judgements yet. He stayed quiet clearly waiting to see what else Jonathan would tell them.

‘Dominic Culpepper at The Sun said that you would be able to help us, that you have helped others when the police lost interest with following other avenues of enquiry. My wife did not do this. Please help us.’

Culpepper, had been the reporter who had picked up the case of the missing boy in the first place. Consequently, the financial benefits of the public’s appetite for the smallest details about the case had led The Sun to turn it into their own personal campaign to find the killer. This had turned Culpepper into a minor celebrity himself as he was the journalist closest to the family and regularly spoke on national television on their behalf publicising the need for information about the missing boy. He had rung Strike to see if he would be interested in taking up the case, ‘The Sun’ would be picking up the bill which would do nothing but improve their image in the public eye if he could get any important information. Culpepper saw it as his way of thanking Strike and Robin for agreeing to selling their story of the Shacklewell Ripper. Strike had agreed to it as he knew Robin was desperate to pay off her self-imposed debts for the wedding and it would be the quickest means. So, for once he did not stick to his rule of avoiding publicity and agreed to the interview with Culpepper. It had also helped to give Strike the opportunity to begin paying Robin as full partner. 

‘We would have to speak to your wife before we decide to take on the case, Dr Grant.’ Strike informed him gently. 

‘Yes, I understand. This is the file that Culpepper told you I would bring. It’s everything he has been able to get from the police so far and interviews he has done. He didn’t think email would be secure enough.’ Jonathan Grant looked relieved although still grave.

‘Thank you. Who is the investigating officer on the case Dr Grant?’ Robin enquired.

‘Jonathan, please. It’s a DI Carver at Scotland Yard.”

Robin’s stomach lurched at the mention of his name, it was obvious to Robin that this was not good news, not good at all. It could make it impossible for them to make any headway with the case at all. Again, she glanced at Strike but he showed no reaction when he said, ‘Yes, we are very familiar with DI Carver. So, Carver is responsible for accusing your wife?’ This time Robin saw Strike’s jaw clench. 

‘Yes, he was very helpful at first but I think as time went on and the police couldn’t get anywhere he began to become very suspicious – of both of us. He questioned me for two days – he accused me of being an abusive husband, suggested that I had killed Arlo and Olivia was too frightened to hand me in and helped to cover up where the body was.’ Jonathan Grant’s voice cracked on the word ‘body’ he clearly had yet come to terms with the fact the child was probably dead. But then, she supposed, any parent would still hope for the best outcome however long their child had been missing for, ‘But, I have a strong alibi as I had a surgery that overran and I stayed at the hospital overnight. I think Carver was under a lot of pressure from his seniors, Olivia is an easy scapegoat.’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Robin responded, repressed anger endangering her professional even tone. Strike looked at her. ‘That the police potentially carried out a miscarriage of justice.’ She stopped herself from appearing too biased against DI Carver personally. They would have to be careful of this not to appear like a personal vendetta against him after he had threatened to destroy Strike and their business. He very nearly had. However, Robin was shocked that his superiors had given him yet another high-profile case when he had made so many mistakes in the past. Robin, horrified, considered the possibility that Cormoran and her own actions in leading to the capture and successful imprisonments of both Donald Laing and Noel Brockbank had helped his career.

‘I’m so glad you see it that way. My wife and I have been through enough. I just want her home. I can’t face this without her.’ This time he couldn’t force back the tears which silently ran in tracks down his pale face.

Robin waited patiently and Strike pushed the tissues towards Jonathan Grant, ‘We’ll as Cormoran said we will start by talking to your wife, if you can arrange it for us and then we will let you know if we can take the case.’ 

Jonathan stood and they followed him, ‘Thank you, I’ll be in touch again in the morning, our lawyer can accompany you.’

Strike walked with Jonathan to the door as Robin picked up Culpepper’s file and began to flick through it. She had been awake since five o’clock that morning and she hadn’t slept particularly well but she was as curious as most of the public about what had happened to Arlo, so she began to sort through the information, arranging it into piles and adding post-its as she heard the door close behind Jonathan Grant and Strike returned to the room to help her.

Two hours later, Robin finished up the notes she had been typing into her laptop. She had always been the quickest typist of the two of them. As she pressed save she asked Strike, ‘So what do you think so far?’

He sighed heavily, ‘Probably the same as you – hoping she didn’t do it - but there is nothing here to prove it either way.’ He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, rubbing them intensely. He hadn’t slept well either. 

‘Hopefully tomorrow we’ll know when we can go and see her. Wardle might know something from the police angle, we have that meeting with him at ten – hopefully it will be a better start than having to try and contact Carver.’

‘Yeah, the last time I talked to him didn’t end too well.’ Strike smirked as he opened his eyes to look at her sheepishly.

‘Yes…well.’ Robin mock-admonished him, ‘I think we should call it a night,’ she stood up and picked up her jacket before walking into the other room.

Strike sat up in his chair then pushed himself off beginning to follow her, ‘Robin, I think we…’ he stopped as he realised she wasn’t in the office. Noticing the door was left open, he checked his pocket for his phone then took his coat from the hanger. He walked into the corridor, closing, then locking the door that now said R.V Ellacott & C.B Strike Private Investigators in gold lettering and made his way a little stiffly up the stairs to the attic flat.


	2. Chapter 2

Strike walked into the kitchen and tipped some pasta into the already boiling saucepan of water. As he waited for it to boil he thought again of the distraught Jonathan Grant. The loss of his child and now, potentially his wife, had clearly marked him. Uninvited the memory of Charlotte telling him she was pregnant replayed in his mind. Charlotte and he, with a baby, would have been a complete and fucking fuck up. But, just for a moment…he shook his head as if to chase away the image. When he realised it had all been lies, probably, it had been the final straw in their 16 year on-and-off relationship. He had never wanted children but even he had not been immune to the hurt of ‘losing’ even the idea of a child. More unexpected was the sudden thought of his mother’s third child, Switch, with the bastard Whitaker. The memory of the toddler was vague and almost as lost to him as his own mother.

The beep of the timer broke into his thoughts and he quickly dumped in some sauce and a couple of tins of tuna before putting a hefty portion in one bowl and a much smaller one in another. He got a bottle of Doom Bar from the cupboard and taking an open bottle from the fridge poured wine into a small glass. He carried everything thorough to the other room in two trips, then sat on the bed looking around for the TV remote. The Arsenal-Manchester United match was about to start. He heard the shower shut off, “Robin! Dinner’s up!”

“Okay! Be there in a minute…” She called back lightly.

He switched the TV on. By the time he felt her sit on the bed next to him, Arsenal were down two and he had nearly finished his pasta. He reached over for the other bowl and handed it to her, she was already wearing a nightshirt and her golden hair was swept up.

“Thanks,” She said her eyes fixed to the screen, “We’re up by two already I see!” 

“Humph…” Strike’s response was indistinguishable with a mouth full of pasta, he swallowed the pasta almost whole, “ ‘we’ I thought you were a rugby fan.”

“Haha! Very funny,” annoyance furrowed her eyebrows.

Strike remembered today probably wasn’t the best day to make jokes about Matthew, “Sorry…’ putting his arm around her back and she settled herself in the crook of his arm, “How did it go with Matthew? Can I ask now it’s not working hours?”

“I made the rule about no relationship during working hours to convince you we could do both, if you remember. He was fine – didn’t make as much as a fuss as I thought. I think it helps that he’s now in a relationship with Sarah Shadlock.” Her tone was crisp, annoyed she had wasted a good proportion of her life on such an idiot.

“Really? How did you find that out – she didn’t go with him to the coffee shop did she?” Strike looked back at the TV to check the progress of Giroud as he kicked the ball towards the goal. It missed.

“She called him, while I was there, probably on purpose,” Robin laughed without humour then finished her bowl of pasta. She felt herself relax as she absorbed Cormoran’s body heat and turned on her side, tangling her leg over his right leg and under his calf. He pulled her closer and gently loosened her long, thick silk curtain of hair from its clip, tangling his fingers at the base of her neck and needing it gently. She felt safe and relaxed.

Once the game reached half time she said, “I felt such relief when I left. It feels over at last.”  
Strike looked sideways at her quizzically.

“I don’t mean the relationship, that was obviously over – I mean the guilt.”

“There was nothing for you to feel guilty about Robin”

“Umm.” She was unconvinced.

He kissed her forehead and unhooked his arm and leg. Taking the bowl from her hand, he gathered the washing up and walked to the kitchen. He enjoyed doing these little domestic chores for her. He liked to be tidy, which was essential now the two of them were living in the attic flat. They had discussed renting a larger flat further from the office but it would have meant seeing less of each other, so for now, they were trying to make the studio flat work. They spent most of their time on different cases and only spent an hour or so together in the office during the morning. Sometimes one of them would be even doing a night shift – mostly Strike. So, the flat meant that they didn’t have to waste time travelling to be together and at the moment the enforced intimacy was welcomed by them both.

All his fears of a romantic relationship destroying their working relationship had been allayed. He couldn’t believe how well things were going. He had to be honest with himself, that, he had found it hard to concentrate this afternoon when he knew Robin had gone to see Matthew. He knew it wasn’t past Matthew to try every form of emotional blackmail to try and get her back. On this occasion, it had been trying to rile a jealous spark from Robin. Matthew was wasting his time. 

Strike knew Robin had been jealous of Elin, only because she had revealed it to him one night, until then he had not had any idea. Robin wasn’t the jealous type, it had been such a strange feeling to her, that she hadn’t realised what it was at the time. It was probably how Matthew had got away with sleeping with Sarah Shadlock for so long. Robin was the antithesis to Charlotte, that was for sure and he didn’t think he had felt as happy in his life. Once the washing up was done, he went into the small bathroom and sitting on the toilet seat he took off his prosthesis before getting into the shower.

As the hot water poured over his back he thought back to the moment he tipped the wedding flowers over at the back of Masham Church. His blood ran cold as he watched the flowers crash to the ground and had to drag his eyes away from the mess before looking hopelessly into Robin’s face. His apology had not just been for the flowers but for everything he had put her through for the past week. When she smiled so brilliantly at him, her natural beauty which he had not seen for days, struck him so hard he forgot to breathe. Her words “I do” seemed to echo around the church for minutes but really it was mere seconds. But, for Strike they had been a death knell. She was married. To Matthew. He had wanted to stop her marrying Matthew but he had been too late. Or rather she had wanted to marry Matthew.

However, he then saw her face change and he realised she had not been talking in response to the vicar at all. It was as if she had been woken up and was realising she was better off asleep in her dream. Then her mother has whisked them away from the aisle and they were following the vicar. At this Strike became aware of people around him whispering and looking at him, “Shit!” He said again this time under his breath. He began to back away towards the door. He had ruined Robin’s wedding. He had probably ruined any chance of her forgiving him and…and whatever it was he had hoped she would do next.

As he walked out of the door of the church, he heard a familiar voice calling his attention back, “Cormoran!” he turned to see Linda coming after him. He relaxed a bit when he realised she looked concerned rather than angry, “Cormoran, I hope you’re not leaving. The vicar is just explaining to everyone that the wedding is not continuing.”

Strike was flustered probably for the first time in his life, “Oh my God Linda, I’m sorr…”

“Come to the house in about an hour,’ she said quickly, ‘Robin will see you there.”

Linda typed the address into Strike’s phone, then she looked up at him with familiar open and friendly eyes and smiled. 

“Thank you.” He smiled back at her before walking back towards where he had left Shanker with the Mercedes.

Shanker was leaning against the car smoking and ignoring the suspicious looks the Bentley drivers through the scarred man, “Well Bunsen? Did you stop the wedding?”

“Looks that way.” Strike mumbled as he looked the address up on his phone, “Let’s get a drink.”

Shanker laughed loudly, making the old men watching him jump a little, and he slapped Strike on the back as he followed Strike to the nearest pub on the corner of the market square, “Celebrating, are we?”

“You’ll have to lend me some money though…” 

Just over an hour later and a few whiskeys later Strike walked towards the door of Robin’s parents’ house and knocked on the door. It was opened by a young man, he looked about twenty, who was smiling broadly – which Strike had not expected at all, “Strike?” he asked.

“Yep.”

“Well done mate,” the young man stuck his hand out to Strike who took it and allowed him to shake his hand, “That Matthew was an absolute wanker. Martin by the way – Robin’s brother.”

“Yeah – she’s mentioned you” He lifted his mouth in a half smile a little embarrassed by Martin’s inappropriate congratulations at ruining his sister’s wedding. 

From behind Martin, Linda appeared, still in her Mother-of –the-Bride suit, “Martin! Let Cormoran in for goodness sake.” She moved her errant son out of the way to let Strike in and closed the door behind him, “Robin’s in her room, upstairs second door on the left.”

“Okay – thanks.” He replied. Linda’s reaction had been wholly unexpected, he had thought she would have been waiting for him behind the door with an axe but instead seemed excited by his presence.

He walked with some difficulty up the old, narrow staircase and as he reached the door of Robin’s room it opened and she stood in front of him in jeans and a t-shirt. The wedding dress was discarded over the back of a chair in the corner behind her, “You came,” She breathed out, relieved, “How did you even get here? Yorkshire, I mean?”

“Shanker, he’s always dependable for the right cause.” He said with a rueful grin.

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, “Does this mean you’ve forgiven me?” she asked with a pleading look.  
“Forgiven you! Have you forgiven me is the question? I treated you badly Robin and now I’ve just completely fucked up your wedding day.” The whisky had clearly made it easier for him to be honest with her and he felt the final remains of the barriers he had built up between them crumble. 

“No, Matthew destroyed my wedding day by sleeping with Sarah Shadlock and I was a fool getting back together with him. I thought I was stronger, I thought I was over what had happened to me but when it came down to it I couldn’t do the brave thing and end the relationship.”

“Well you have now – it took me sixteen years!” he feigned exasperation. 

She laughed for the first time in over a week, “I suppose so.”

He looked at her, incredulous, he hadn’t thought he would be this easily forgiven, “When you didn’t answer my phone calls or texts, I thought you never wanted to talk to me again.”

She looked confused, taking her phone from her pocket and swiping the screen, “I didn’t get any calls…” She quickly looked around for her phone but whether it was he couldn’t see it, “I must have left it downstairs,” she mumbled, then she turned back to face him, her hair was still styled for the wedding although the flowers were gone, she is beautiful he allowed himself to finally think, “What did you say?”

He looked back at her confused.

“The messages? What did you say?” She asked again eagerly.

“Oh, you know…I can’t do this without you…you’re the best thing that ever happened to me…you saved me… all that crap...I mean have you looked at the state of me?” He gave her his toothy grin, crinkly eyed and totally open. She hadn’t seen that smile since the first day they’d met. As she reminded herself to breathe, it became obvious why, however unlikely, he had been so successful with women. 

“Oh!” she recoiled slightly at the shock of his words and breathed out raggedly. He regretted his honesty momentarily until Robin looked away, shyly smiling. Her eyes then returned to his but she stayed quiet. She knew when to stay quiet and allow her target to talk their way into revealing what she wanted to know just as he did. He took this as a good sign but knew Robin deserved to hear the truth. She had stopped her own wedding, hadn’t she? 

“I know I went too far after I found out about Brockbank. My anger was totally inexcusable – really, I had felt cross with you for getting back together with Matthew for weeks. You hadn’t told me about what had happened with Brockbank yourself and it hurt me that you couldn’t. Then Carver’s threats just flicked a switch and the anger found an outlet. I was already struggling with you being stabbed by Laing, I mean I couldn’t even stay at the hospital after you’d been hurt, as soon as Matthew got there I had to get out. I felt I’d put you there, sending you on a wild goose chase after Whittaker, if I had never sent you to Catford it would never had happened. Then you put yourself and Shanker in danger again. I felt I couldn’t control anything but what I was really losing control of was how I felt about you. So, I pushed you away as effectively as I could. I’m a messed up bastard Robin, but, I am genuinely sorry.”

She had listened without interruption and now she was looking at him as she had done in the church, “So?” 

He looked at her, smiling widely again, “So, can we make this permanent?” raising his hands to the side in the same way as when she had asked him that same question.

“Partners?” She said in response holding her hand out towards him in the same way her brother hand. But, as he reached to take it, she reached upwards and stepping towards him. She stroked the side of his bearded face and he pushed his sore face into the caress of her hand. She placed the palm of her hand at the back of his neck and pulled him towards her until their lips finally met. 

Out of the shower, he dried himself quickly and completed his routine to take care of his leg. He reached out for his crutches and walked back to bed. Robin, who had was now under the covers was now breathing steadily in sleep. He climbed in next to her but suddenly her hand snaked around his naked waist and then her fingers raked back though the hair just below his stomach. She climbed on top of his lap. Her nightshirt was undone and he slipped his hand inside stroking the curves that had slowly returned since the wedding-that-wasn’t, “Aren’t you tired from last night?” he murmured as she lent down over him and his eyes fell to gaze between the sides of her nightshirt. 

He had been stuck on a late-night stakeout and hadn’t got in till the early hours, accidently waking Robin up when he got in she had made him make it up to her and so they hadn’t slept for another an hour or so.

“Well, you did too well and now I want a replay,” she whispered and ran her lips down the side of his face towards his mouth.

He flipped her over onto her back and she giggled.


	3. Chapter 3

Wardle had asked to meet them at a café near Denmark Street rather than at The Feathers. Strike wasn’t used to policeman requesting to meet with him out of the blue. Although his relationship with Wardle had improved each time Strike had provided him with a tied-up case. To be fair Wardle hadn’t turned out to be as stupidly obstinate as DI Carver, although he had never admitted to the wrongs of obstructing Strike’s suggestions for lines of enquiry, which had resulted in a stab wound for Strike.

“Any ideas what it’s about?” Robin asked Strike as he chomped his way through her leftovers, even though he had just finished his double-everything fry-up. Robin sat across from him in the red booth, she still felt awe at how much he could eat in one sitting. 

“He never said but he didn’t sound like his usual cocky self,” he said, a touch sullen.

“That’s to be expected though, after what happened to his brother.” 

“Maybe,” Strike shrugged.

Robin understood a little better now that Strike’s surface flippancy didn’t mean he was without compassion but was more of a coping mechanism for witnessing so much death perpetrated by the darkest side of human nature. Leaning forward she caught up his hand and held the back of it against her cheek, the dark hair brushing against her cheek until she could press her lips against his knuckles. He watched her before turning his hand around to cup her cheek and stroke her lips with his thumb. The door opened and he dropped his arm quickly, “Wardle!” 

Robin pressed her fingers to her tingling lips as if to hold the sensation there.

“Alright?” Wardle nodded at Strike, “Robin?” 

“H..Hi!” she replied, lightening her tone as she realised her voice sounded too throaty. As she looked from him to Cormorant, she saw the later was trying to stifle a sly smile. 

“Tea?” Cormoran asked. 

“Yeah, I’ll get it. Anything for you two?”

Robin shook her head but Strike asked for more tea. While Wardle went up to the counter, Cormoran raised his eyebrows with a look that showed this kind of generosity from Wardle was unexpected. Wardle clearly needed something from them. Robin swallowed a chuckle. 

When he returned, Robin moved over so Wardle could slide into the seat next to her. 

“How are you?” she queried with tempered sympathy.

“Oh, you know…April’s pregnant actually.” 

“Congratulations!” Strike had met April and liked her so much it had warmed him to Wardle, but doubted Wardle had asked him here to tell him this, “April is Wardle’s wife,’ he looked towards Robin.

“Yeah…ur… that’s why I wanted to see you both really. How’s business?” Wardle rubbed at the table with his fingertips at a mark that wasn’t there.  
“Yeah, good.” What Strike didn’t want to say in front of Robin was that solving the Shacklewell Ripper case had been really good for them, “Back to having to turn down work. In fact we might be taking on a case that you could help us with?”

“Oh yeah?” Wardle was curious.

“The Arno Grant disappearance”

Wardle shook his head, “I’d stay away from that if I were you. It’s a complete fuck-up. Did you hear the mother’s been charged?”

“Mmm…the husband met with us yesterday,” Robin informed him.

“Carver is on that case too. He’s been told this is his last chance. He’s desperate for the collar before he gets stuck behind a desk. Vanessa Ekwensi is your best bet – you’ve met her. She likes you,” he nodded towards Strike, “Don’t understand it myself.”

Robin smiled at Strike, “It’s a mystery.” 

“I’ll text you her number. Will you be looking for any other investigators then?” Wardle sounded strained.

Strike raised an eyebrow, “Why?” 

“Since what happened to my brother, April’s found it really hard not to worry about me and the job – there was a bit of a scare a few weeks ago because of it. We thought she was going to lose the baby.” Wardle tried to rub the tension from his forehead, “If you were still thinking of taking someone on, I wanted you to know I’d be interested.” 

Strike’s eye’s slid to Robin who shrugged one shoulder to show it wasn’t the worst idea she had heard. With the possibility of the Grant case they didn’t want to get themselves into the same situation they had before where clients were complaining. Also, Strike had risked his life more than once to recover the business from a no-man’s-land where he would have been left near destitute.

She had been equal partner for only a couple of months – when she gave her mother and father the check to pay back the wedding expenses, they had suggested she keep it and invest it into the business and her future. After much persuasion, she had agreed, she had been more happier training to be an investigator than she had ever been about marrying Matthew. However, Cormoran had started the business from scratch, he had refused to take a handout from his own father and she had felt embarrassed to put the proposition to him. Nonetheless, Cormoran had been rendered momentarily speechless at the risk she was willing to take, not for the first time, when just over a year before the business had nearly been ground into the dust. 

“Well?” She prompted him hesitantly nudging his thigh with her knee.

He hadn’t taken his eyes off her during her pre-prepared speech and his face blank with surprise shifted to pleasure, “You’re sure you want to make such a big commitment – to the business?”

She had smiled back at him, smitten, “No question.”

Strike looked back at Wardle, “So, ‘sniffing sheets’ has started to appeal to you has it?”

Wardle laughed under his breath at the repetition of his dig at Strike, ”Remembered that, did you?” 

After feeling the pressure on his right foot from Robin’s boot Strike relented a bit, “Well I just want to be clear about what most of the work would be – it’s not all supermodels, serial killers and subterfuge,” explained Strike, “Give Robin and I a bit of time to look into it and we’ll be in touch.”

Wardle looked from Strike to Robin, perplexed.

“It’s Ellacott and Strike now– we’re full partners,” Strike explained.

“Oh yeah?” Wardle smirked salaciously, “Robin, I’d just like you to know that I told him he was missing a trick if he let you get away.”

Robin began to reconsider whether she could put up with Wardle permanently as he laughed at his own comment.

“You weren’t the only one.” Strike groaned.

*

In the taxi, on their way to Holloway, Strike’s phone beeped, “That’s Vanessa Ekwensi’s mobile number.” He told Robin.

“I liked her – she was very kind after I was stabbed. I’ll call her later if you forward me her number, I’d like to thank her.”

Strike forwarded the number to her and hid his smile as he concentrated on tapping the phone. 

But too late, as Robin had still caught it, “Shut up!” she snapped, rolling her eyes, before getting her phone out and opening the notes. 

He raised his eyebrows, “I didn’t realise I had said anything?”

Slightly irritated with Cormoran’s teasing, she scanned the notes pages on Olivia Grant, “What about Wardle then?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Bloody hell, that was out of the blue - I always thought he was a career policeman - he purposely pursued Terence Malley over any of the other suspects I was pushing and that created two more victims, almost three.” He said repressively. 

“That being said, if he’s working for us, perhaps he’ll be less competitive and he’ll have us to stop him from settling with a biased theory – that’s all that gets in the way of his reasoning. Also, as you’ve always pointed out, someone whose ex-police would always be useful,” Robin explored the possibility fairly.

“True – how do you feel about questioning Olivia Grant?” 

“I’ll do it.” Robin tried to sound offhand as she concentrated on her notes but was secretly thrilled that Cormoran had suggested it. He had previously worked so hard to prevent her from getting too entangled in their last big case as it became more dangerous for her. Since, their partnership was repaired he was constantly throwing new opportunities her way, taking the more boring cases himself. Now he was really demonstrating his trust in her abilities: to hand this over to her without Robin having to face a possible argument or having to fight to persuade him. She gave him a bright smile, before returning to the notes to make sure she hadn’t missed anything important. The problem was there was nothing to miss as far as she could tell. No DNA, fingerprints or CCTV of the child had been found. The stark truth was that Olivia Grant may have killed her child and she voiced this to Strike.

“It’s certainly looking that way. Perhaps the lawyer has some new information, otherwise this is going to be a waste of an afternoon.” 

The taxi pulled up outside the prison which looked like any brick institutional building. Strike had always thought it could have been a secondary school or hospital before the labour government had invested money into PPI schemes that turned these buildings into a steel and glass advertising statements for one architecture company or another. A tall man in a suit Strike’s age, stood waiting by the entrance, Strike hoped this wasn’t Olivia’s Grant lawyer, “Fuck!” Strike said under his breathe.

As they approached he appeared to recognise Strike and he smiled.

“What is it?” 

But they were only steps away from the man and Cormoran only had time to shake his head.

Tabor-Jones was the kind of man who gripped other’s hands in a vice just to assert himself as the alpha male, “Yes, yes, Cormoran Strike, I think we were at Oxford together. I was a friend of Charlotte Cambell-Ross, Ritchie, Richard Tabor-Jones? Jago Ross is one of my closest friends.” His smile was snake-like. “But you didn’t finish did you?”

Robin had looked up at Strike at the mention of Charlotte’s name, he had nodded.

“Urm…can’t seem to place you.” Strike’s brain was encyclopaedic. Ritchie had been part of the set that Charlotte had gone back to socialising with once Ross appeared to be over losing her to Strike. She had managed to drag Strike along to the occasional dinner, wedding or party at which he had seen Ross, Tabor-Jones and the rest of their friends behave with the same self-assuredness raucous behaviour however outrageous and unwanted.

Tabor-Jones’ grimace was vaguely disguised, “Yes, well, I’ll be sure to let Charlotte know we are working together, with?” he turned towards Robin.

She introduced herself to Tabor-Jones sticking her hand out. Strike could tell Robin was trying to hide a surprised wince after she placed her hand in his. Already it was clear this bloke was still an arrogant dick.

“Very nice to meet you,” he said, visibly assessing Robin. This happened more often now she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring and Cormoran noticed she never revelled in it, instead it clearly annoyed Robin but she was never rude and usually responded with an uncomfortable stiffness that communicated her disinterest.   
However, she recovered quickly to demand, “Shall we go in,” effectively cutting him off. She stalked away towards the entrance. 

Instead of being shown to the cheerfully decorated visitor’s room where Strike had visited Leonora Quine, they were taken to a private room and waited for Olivia Grant to be brought to them.

“What we don’t understand at the moment was how the police managed to charge her. There was very little evidence at the home and no sign of struggle. If they couldn’t find anything that implicated anyone else, what did they have to possibly charge her, apart from the neighbour’s statement and a lack of an alibi for the time prior to going to the neighbour’s house.” Strike asked. 

“The police believe that Arno had to have been taken by someone that knew him, the Grant’s car had been seen leaving the house and Olivia says they went to woods. A search of the woods was carried out. The dogs picked up the scent but it didn’t lead to a body or any further evidence. Traces of blood were found in the car. So, yes the police are hoping to be successful on circumstantial evidence.”

“The other suspects didn’t lead anywhere?” Strike asked. These were questions they knew the answers to already from Culpepper’s file but the lawyer might have had privileged information the journalist was unable to buy or earn with favours.

“After canvassing the area, there was a lot of information from the public. They investigated the whereabouts of local sex offenders; people linked to the child – a teacher, the babysitter and Jonathan Grant. All had alibis. Olivia has been unfortunate and her mental health hasn’t helped the situation.”

“What do you mean?” Robin asked defensively.

“Well, her comments to the neighbour in the first place but also in her statement to the police she was very confused and kept muddling the facts of the day in question. Another prisoner has now given a statement saying that Olivia told her she had killed Arno. I suspect that to be because Olivier has received so much publicity, the prisoner is hoping it will help secure them with a parole deal.”

The two investigators shared a look of concern as the door was suddenly opened and a warden held the door open for Olivia to come through. Another warden followed her. The women looked like a little bird. Thin and grey in the face. Her hair once expensively styled hung lifelessly. The blank stare of her eyes showed no acknowledgement of the people in the room. Only her body language, which became more inhibited as she sat in the chair, revealed she was aware of their presence.

For the first time Tabor-Jones lost his pompous tone, which Robin hadn’t thought was possible, ‘Olivia, this is Cormoran Strike and Robin Ellacott, they are going to be helping us to find out what happened to Arno.” 

Strike noticed when Arno’s name was spoken Olivia’s eyes lost focus as if she had gone somewhere else for a moment.

“Hello Olivia,” Robin’s voice was gentle.

Olivia’s eyes flickered over the area where Robin sat, not able to make eye contact. 

“Olivia, could you tell me about what you remember about the last time that you saw Arno?” 

Olivia’s face crumpled, “I don’t want to think about it again. I’m tired. I’ve told everyone, again and again. I’m tired.”

“I understand Olivia but if you could try for me, just for a little while.”

Olivia finally focused her eyes on Robin and nodded.

“When was the last time you saw Arlo?”

“We were in the garden. Arlo was playing in his treehouse. Climbing up and sliding down. But Mia was crying. She wouldn’t stop. So, I left them in the garden and went to see Ellen.”

‘How did you get to Ellen’s?”

“Through the garden gate, as soon as I left the garden I heard Mia stop crying. She hates me. Ellen was sitting in her garden and I was upset. She took me inside. She took me inside because I can’t do it. I can’t be a mother. I wanted her to tell Jonathan. I can’t do it. Mia hates me. Arlo used to love me but then he realised I was a bad mother so he went away.”

”I’m sure that’s not true Olivia, I think they love you very much and miss you a lot. What happened then Olivia, did you drink your tea?”

“No, I couldn’t drink it. I couldn’t because I heard Mia starting to cry and scream again. Ellen wasn’t there and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t go back in the garden. I couldn’t move.”

Strike looked at Robin and then at Tabor-Jones who shrugged his shoulders. This was not in any of the files.

“So how did you get to the garden Mia? Did Ellen come back?”

‘Yes - she came in and then went back into the garden. She bought Mia to me and asked me where Arlo was. I told her he was in the garden but she said he wasn’t.” Olivia was staring at a space on the table as she recounted the events.

 

“Where had Ellen been, did she come in from the garden or the house?”

Confusion troubled Olivia’s face, “I…I’m not sure. I just couldn’t move. Ellen went outside again and I could hear her calling his name. Eventually, I was able to follow her back to my garden to see if she had found him. I thought he was just playing hide and seek. We couldn’t find him in the house or the garden. He wasn’t in his treehouse. He wasn’t in the wood at the back of the house.” Her hand fluttered to her mouth and tears ran soundlessly from her face, “In the end Ellen rang the police.”

“Thank you, not much longer now. Can you tell me what you did that morning?”

“Why? Why do you want to know so much?” Olivia became accusatory, Do you have Arlo?” Olivia’s voice began to rise.

“No, we want to help you find Arlo, remember Olivia. We want to help you.” Robin lent forward on her folded arms.

Olivia was mollified, “Yes, you want to help find Arlo for us.” 

“When did you go to the woods Olivia?”

“We went to the woods that’s right, we went to the woods in the morning. Mia is quiet in her pushchair. Arlo kept running away. I got angry with him and shouted at him to come back. But he got frightened and fell over. His leg was bleeding and I didn’t have anything to clean it with, so we came back home. “

“How long were you there for?”

“Not long, I can’t remember exactly but not long.”

“And do you remember anyone else there Olivia?

“There was a man with a dog. “

“Did he see you?” 

Olivia nodded “Yes, because he said Good Morning.”

“Did you know this man?” In Yorkshire saying hello to absolute strangers was acceptable but she knew in London this was rare, even in the suburbs where Olivia and Jonathan lived.

“No, I had never seen him before.”

Finally, Olivia’s face cracked and dissolved into sobs. Robin went to get up and comfort her but the guard moved and put a warning hand out

 

As they walked from the building, Strike said to Tabor-Jones,” So, the fact the neighbour seems to not have been with Olivia. Has that ever been established before.”

“It’s the first time I’ve heard Olivia say it. As ill as she is though I’m not sure that she has much concept of time.” Tabor-Jones looked at his watch, he was back to his self-important self. Clearly, he felt this was a waste of time.

“Okay, well maybe that’s where we’ll start if we decide to take on the case?” Strike looked at Robin.

She nodded, “We’ll be in touch Mr Tabor-Jones”

He began to walk away, towards the car park, “By the way, Mr Strike as you’re an old friend of Charlotte’s, I thought you would like to know. They’ve just announced they are pregnant with their first child.” He didn’t turn around in the direction he was walking in fast enough to hide the cruel smile on his face. 

Robin was shocked. Not that Charlotte was pregnant but that a man like Tabor-Jones took such pleasure in pathetically exulting in someone else’s pain. Anyone would have thought he was her husband, exacting his vengeance on her ex. Maybe one win for one, was a win for them all. “Dick.” Robin said loudly enough for only Cormoran to hear. 

“Yes, he is.” Strike muttered, “So what do you think – shall we follow up on the neighbour?”

‘Why are you doing that?” Robin was now as angry with Cormoran, “Don’t pull the defences up on me. You’ve just been told the women you were in love with for 16 years is having a baby with the man she married to try to make you jealous.”

“Yes, but Robin, she’s not the woman whose wedding I stopped.”

She crossed her arms and folded them across her chest, implacable. “It would have hurt me if I’d turned up at that coffee shop and Matthew had an ultrasound photo to show me.”

He had tried to avoid this as he suspected this wasn’t the best place to tell her, “I never wanted children Robin. So why would I care about the fact she’s going to have another man’s child, years after breaking up.” It came out more aggressively then he meant it to.

Her face blanched and looked pained, then she brushed past him pacing quicker than he could keep up with onto Pentonville Road. As Robin punched their details into her cab app on her phone, he came to stand by her. “Look, that’s not exactly what I meant. Realising she had been cheating on me while we were together was a different situation. Can’t we talk about it at home, I haven’t exactly processed it myself yet”

“Whatever you want to do Cormoran,” although Robin sounded like she thought the exact opposite, “We’ve got dinner with Ilsa and Nick tonight.”

Strike groaned but not because he didn’t want to go, “Snap out of it Robin, come on.” He put his arms round her pulling her into his coat. Her arms still folded against him.

“I’m not jealous, I just hate it when you don’t tell me things – your feelings. I thought we were beyond that.” Like not wanting to have children. Ever.

“Neither am I – the only thought in my head right now about Charlotte’s being pregnant with Jago Ross’ kid is poor kid, actually whoever the father was.”

Finally, she dropped her hands to his waist, “Really?” 

“For Fuck sake, come here,” He buried his hand in her hair and kissed her until their cab driver arrived and had to use his horn to get their attention.


	4. Chapter 4

Strike walked up Ilsa and Nick’s path in East London later that evening. It had become a more and more regular thing for he and Robin to go out for dinner or visit them than when he was having to keep the business going himself or simply because Charlotte hadn’t liked any of his friends. When he had told Robin this she had given him a look which gave away her disbelief that the man she admired so much in other ways could have loved someone who had not liked Ilsa and Nick. Strike suspected Robin’s loyalty to them had come from their kindness to her after she had finished things with Matthew.

Robin had not wanted to stay in Masham after the halted wedding in case she saw Matthew. She had given her mother her share of the foreign spending money for her cancelled honeymoon, in exchange for £600 so they could return to London in the Land Rover hours after her wedding. Linda had been concerned that Robin was rushing back to London so soon but had let them go without a word. 

They had spent the night at Ilsa and Nick’s who had waited up for them into the late evening. As Robin got some much-needed sleep in the attic room, Strike had filled Ilsa and Nick in with the events of the last week. Ilsa shocked and concerned at the danger both Strike and Robin had put themselves in, could still barely hide her happiness when she heard that Robin had not married Matthew and as she said goodnight to Strike who was sleeping on the sofa she added, “Good job Corm, Nick I won the bet, you owe me fifty quid.”

“Well, from what Corm says they would never had been happy,” she reasoned with Nick who had told her to perhaps try to temper her delight in front of Robin the next day.

The next day, watching the Sunday morning news with Ilsa and Nick it was apparent that his involvement with the capture of the Shaklewell Ripper and that Robin had been the unnamed victim had been leaked. After a quick text to someone at the bar under the office he got the reply that the paparazzi were again camped outside in the street. 

“Well we can’t go back to the office, probably for the rest of this week?’ Strike had looked to Robin who had just come downstairs after getting ready. She looked better rested than she had yesterday and he reminded himself he was now allowed to give her an appreciative glance.

Except, Isla had caught it and she looked at him knowingly, “Your both welcome to stay here,” she offered, then she looked as if just remembering something important, “Oh, I just thought, you both could stay at our house in St Mawes,” and before they could refuse she went on, “The press won’t know where you are and you can always work from there, you can use email and Skype to start getting the business up and running again. And there’s plenty of room, two bedrooms so no one has to sleep on a couch.”

With the last bit of information, Robin had looked off to the side in embarrassment.

Strike had shaken his head at Ilsa’s irrepressible excitement at coming up with an idea that would force him and Robin together for a week as if they were hothouse flowers. But he was also completely exhausted, he felt as if he had been working solidly for three years straight, more in fact. It had started as his way of keeping himself distracted from the loss of his leg and then his break-up with Charlotte. He wouldn’t be able to sustain it forever, he already felt he looked ten years older than he was.

“What do you think Robin? Would you like to go?” He surprised himself with how unexpectedly nervous he felt, waiting for her to answer. Suggesting this was maybe too soon for her.

“Sounds great!” Robin turned back to look at him, beaming. 

 

The door clicked open, “You’re early!” Nick was surprised because Strike had developed a habit for being remiss about punctuality since he started working for himself.

“By five minutes - bloke I was trailing got on a plane at City Airport so I was close.” Strike handed over the cans of beer and wine bottles he had brought from the off-license and took of his coat, hanging it on the coat stand.

“Hi,” Ilsa popped out of the sitting room door to give him a hug hello, “Good day?”

Strike followed her into their sitting room, “Busy…One of the detectives we’ve worked with wants a job, we might take on Olivia Grant as a client” then to get it over and done with, “and Charlotte’s pregnant -” adding, as he caught the flash of sheer panic on Ilsa’s face, “It’s Ross’”

“Sounds like a lucky escape, Oggy mate!” Nick had come back into the room and clapped his on the shoulder.

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Are you sure?” Ilsa as usual, was fixed on ensuring there was no sign of weakness on Strike’s part

“Am I speaking in another language?” then a little calmer, “Look I’d just appreciate it if you all gave me the benefit of the doubt. When did I give everyone the impression I was a complete fucking idiot?” He dropped onto the sofa, “Don’t answer that.”

“Tired Corm?” Ilsa tried another tactic and Strike leant his head on the wall, closed his eyes and nodded,” So Robin knows too?” 

Without moving, he gave her a side long glance, “Yes, she definitely knows.”

Nick stifled a laugh, “So it’s going well then?”

“It was – why do you think I’m so bloody tired?” 

Nick sniggered and Ilsa gave them both disapproving looks but couldn’t help smiling because contrary to Strike’s belief that she thought he was an idiot she and Nick had both said that the cleverest thing he had ever done was allow himself to start a relationship with Robin. The doorbell rang and Ilsa got up and ruffled her husband’s hair, Nick was still chuckling. 

”Shush!” she said, before going to let Robin in.

Strike heard Robin and Ilsa’s excited greetings, “You look lovely!” Ilsa told Robin after they had hugged, “Let me take that from you, thank you for bringing it – they’re in the sitting room. Nick!” Ilsa took the take-away Robin had brought into the dining room. Nick appeared at the door and quickly gave Robin a peck on both cheeks before he rushed off to help Ilsa.

When Strike saw Robin appear at the door, he raised an eyebrow and drew in a ragged breath. She had been back to the flat, showered and changed out of her smart work clothes. Now she wore spiked ankle boots and a figure hugging thigh-high dress which although it had long sleeves to her wrists and a neckline up to her throat the design still emphasised her enticing curves and endless legs. A loose thick plait framed her face then disappeared into her bright flowing hair. The overall effect was heart-attack inducing gorgeousness.

“Are you alright?” Robin asked, oblivious to the cause of Strike’s paralysis and silence she just saw his concentrated expression. Even though they had quickly made it up, she worried Cormoran hadn’t yet completely shaken off his irritation from earlier. 

With a lopsided smile, he gestured for her to sit with him.

She relaxed and shook her head, “Come on, we should help with the food – it’s supposed to be our treat!” It was impossible for them to invite Ilsa and Nick to the tiny flat, so this had been the compromise.

Strike stayed on the sofa as he needed a moment to calm down before he was in a room with anyone apart from he and Robin. He looked around the familiar sitting room to distract his errant thoughts and think more company appropriate thoughts. Pictures of Nick and Ilsa on the fireplace caught his eye, one of them as 18 year olds and the other on their wedding day. In both they were laughing and looking at each other, absolutely in love. Their relationship had, like his and Charlotte’s, lasted into their thirties but had only gone through one short separation caused by University. But, it had been their relationship which had proved the more stable yet still passionate from the little he had unfortunately overheard when he had been staying with them last year. Also, if he was honest with himself, the more loving. They didn’t require a constant supply of dramatic breaking ups and reunions to make them feel as if their relationship was inevitable. 

He understood why Robin was concerned about the news that Charlotte was pregnant. Taking the fact that he was now involved in a relationship with Robin out of the equation, she had still known more than any of friends or his family about the pain the final breakup had caused him. Robin had been forced into the situation, having to tell him Charlotte was engaged and had looked after him so he didn’t end up getting involved in a drunken brawl or waking up in a gutter. She’d witnessed the photograph Charlotte had sent him of the supposed anguish caused by Strike not trying to stop her wedding. Robin had handled the information with compassion. Unlike, Robin’s reaction to Wardle’s comment about Vanessa Ekwensi that morning, she wasn’t worried about him out of a lover’s jealousy but from her concern for him as her best friend. 

They had finally discussed his relationship with Charlotte on Carne beach in Cornwall. While they had looked out at the grey blue of the Atlantic in the twilight, they sat on some rocks at the far end of the sand and ate the remnants of the fish and chips they had brought with them.

“Bloody hell!” She had joked looking down at him from where she was perched on top of a slightly higher rock, legs crossed, “I never thought I’d see Cormoran Strike, celebrity private-eye eating fish and chips at the seaside.”

“If it involves food Robin, I’ll be there.” He’d stolen the chip from the end of her wooden fork and popped it in his mouth before she could snatch her hand away.

“That’s why you decided to come to the wedding then!” 

“Well if you’d included the menu in the invitation, I might have actually RSVPed.”

“Good to know.” She looked out to see and sighed, “It’s certainly better being here than anywhere with….” She had stuck her fork into the last of her chip instead of saying Matthew’s name.

“You can say his name you know,” Strike assured her, taking the leftover chips she offered him, he worked his way through them watching a cargo ship in the far distance, making its slow progress towards the east. Her fingers tangled in his curly hair and she stroked the back of head.

 

“Course I know, it’s just…I’m angry with myself for letting it get that far, I mean I was at the altar! I said ‘I do’. I should’ve been braver and moved out,” 

He leaned his head back into her hand, “You know it’s not a matter of you not being brave enough, you’d loved him for a long time.”

“Was…was it hard to leave Charlotte?” She said with uncertainty but continuing to massage his scalp. 

“The thing is Robin, our relationship was pretty turbulent, she’d broken up with me three times already. I’d forgiven her like you did with Matthew but not just once. It was like she didn’t believe anyone could really love her. So, she was always testing me to the extreme. Finally, she did something that I couldn’t forgive her for and I left. I had to get away from her and keep away from her for my own sanity.”

“You were trying to fix her?” She stated and he nodded.

“Yep but it took me a long time to realise it couldn’t be done and I wouldn’t listen to anyone else telling me,” At that she put her arms around his shoulders and leant her check on the top of his head.

Strike had considered the possibility this afternoon that Charlotte’s pregnancy was her latest ploy to get her vengeance on Strike and put painful pressure on the scars that had formed over his wounds. Even up to last year, while he had been dating Elin, he hadn’t been sure whether he would ever be able to love someone again. Now with this latest test, he supposed, he found that, admittedly surprising even to himself, he had finally built up his immunity to Charlotte. Now he just needed to convince Robin as well as address his slip of the tongue earlier about not wanting children.

Strike groaned as he heaved himself out of the comfort of the sofa and followed the others into the kitchen.

Most of the Chinese food was arranged on the table already and Nick handed him a Tennents as soon as he entered the kitchen-diner. Ilsa poured wine into a glass for Robin as they all laughed together at the table, they turned to look at him.

“I was just telling Ilsa and Nick about Tiny Tears,” she explained.

Tiny Tears was the man she had been trailing the day before. He wife had suspected he was having an affair but Robin had since uncovered his penchant for visiting specialised brothels where they fulfilled his need for paraphilic infantilism – where he would dress-up as a baby and be bathed, have his nappy changed and be put to be bed and occasionally breast-fed. Robin had had a difficult conversation with the wife this afternoon where she had to give Mrs Tiny Tears the news of her husband’s masochistic role play. The details of his wife’s ensuing horror and distress she hadn’t shared.

“As we’re talking about babies,” Ilsa began, looking at Nick who gave her a supportive smile, which did not go unnoticed by Strike.

“Bloody hell!” Strike blurted out explosively, “Are you having a baby?” 

“Yes - finally.” Nick looked relieved.

“IVF” Ilsa said in explanation to Robin.

“That’s amazing news!” Robin said and hugged Ilsa.

Strike got up, he hugged Nick, “Congratulations mate!” then he went over and kissed Ilsa, “You deserve this.” He said to her as he gave her a hug.

“Thanks Corm,” she said brushing tears away and sighing.

“Let’s have a toast then!”

Later Robin and Strike walked back down Ilsa and Nick’s black and white chequered path and into the waiting cab. As soon as they were both in the back, Strike slipped his arm around Robin’s waist and pulled her into the middle of the back seat. She buckled up as the cab drove away from the kerb and the driver, seeing that his passengers weren’t about to have a conversation with him, turned the music up on the radio. Strike bent his head to Robin’s ear and ran his hand up her legs to her thigh, “This dress Robin – ”

She laughed sexily in his ear as his fingers gently combed through the hair at the nape of her neck and she shivered, leaning backwards so his lips could sweep down her throat, “After today we’re going to be banned from using these cabs.” She whispered.

“They’ve probably seen worse.” He replied. 

Five minutes into their journey from South London to Demark Street, after his phone had begun to ring for the fifth time, Strike pulled his lips away from Robin’s and placed his forehead on her temple, moving his hand down to her waist. In the dim light, he picked up the flush of her checks and both their breathing was unsteady. Once he felt he could answer the phone decently, he reached in his pocket and answered it without looking at the caller ID. Robin took the chance to self-consciously pull down the hem of her skirt before it rode up to an indecent height.

“Hello,” he said gruffly as he playfully tried to stop her. 

Robin slapped his hands away, “Cormoran!” She seethed between her teeth, only half serious. Whoever was calling was intent and it could have been a client.

“Bluey?” Charlotte’s tremulous voice said from the mobile, “What’s going on?”

“Charlotte.” 

Robin turned her face in the opposite direction as she didn’t want him to think she was listening. Her hand went to unclip the seat belt so she could move over and leave him to his first conversation with Charlotte since they had broken up. Strike’s hand closed over hers stopping her and he linked his fingers in hers.

There was silence on the other end of the phone, he was tempted to cut the call dead but also knew he had to show Robin that he could talk to Charlotte without a relapse, “Charlotte, what do you want?”

“Are you with someone?” she must have heard Robin’s voice.

“Yes I am – what do you want?” 

“Please don’t be angry with me Bluey, Richie told me he saw you today and let it slip I was pregnant. I thought I should call you. I didn’t want you to find out like that.” Her voice gently regretful in an attempt to disarm him

“The thing is Charlotte that would only matter if it actually bothered me,” he said flatly.

“Oh, it’s just that you answered the phone this time, I thought you might be ready to talk to me.” He could tell the tone of her voice was beginning to become more affronted.

“No Charlotte, I wasn’t paying attention and just didn’t see it was you.” Strike felt no inkling towards a moment of madness to reverse the last two years. 

“Fine, if your still in that frame of mind, I can wait.” She said lowering her voice into more seductive notes but which smacked of desperation.

“Well, you’re be waiting a bloody long time.” He sighed and heard the phone click. His mobile ended the call.

Robin was rigid next to him but it was her who broke the silence, “Well, I suppose that was to be completely expected.”


	5. Chapter 5

After just over six hours the Land Rover made its way along the main road into St Mawes. The old fishing village was built on a peninsula and Ilsa’s and Nick’s house, which had been left to them by her mother, was at the top of the village which sloped down to a small harbour and rocky beach. 

Robin was exhausted and was sure she could hear her bones click as she stretched outside of the car.

Strike had noticed too, “Look, you get some rest, I’m just going to pop next door to let my Aunt and Uncle know we’ve arrived. Take whichever bedroom you want. I’ll bring your bags in - take these!” he threw her the house keys Ilsa had given him 

“Okay,” she was slightly taken aback and Robin wasn’t sure what she was most upset about. Was he not going to introduce to his family? Or that the implication was that they were sleeping in separate bedrooms.

She opened the door and walked into a huge open plan space. The house had been a bungalow, modernised into a two-story house, so that the back walls of the house were huge bi-fold doors overlooking the sea. Robin climbed the staircase which she found led to two adjacent bedrooms and a large bathroom. Both double bedrooms had their own balcony and Robin collapsed on the first bed she came to, asleep in minutes and not hearing Strike shout goodbye.

When she awoke it was late, although she’d pulled the duvet over her, she was still fully clothed. Outside her room, she found a note from Cormoran, ‘Gone down to the Victory Inn, they’ll be no reception down there, so drawn you a map if you want to come or I’ll see you when I get back.” He had sketched, badly, a rough map of the walk down to the pub.

She padded along the wooden floor back down the staircase and jumped out of her skin when she realised she had company. A little woman stood in the kitchen, packing food into the fridge, at the sound of Robin’s footsteps she had looked up and smiled warmly.

“Hello Robin, I’m Joan, Cormoran’s auntie, it’s lovely to meet you at last,” they walked towards each other and before Robin had a chance to think Joan had placed her hands upon Robin’s shoulder and pecked her on the cheek, “Ted and I have heard so much about you. Lucy and Ilsa rave about you – and Cormoran, you know what he’s like, won’t say much but he’s let a few things slip but don’t tell him I said that!”

Robin laughed. 

“You must be hungry love, I’ve brought you some things from the Co-op, milk, bread, tea – Cormoran loves his tea, I’m sure you know. Would you like some soup? Yes? I’ll heat you up some,” Robin had tried to protest that she could do it herself but Joan wouldn’t let her, “Just relax Robin! You’ve driven all day today and yesterday I hear from Cormoran. I’m just thankful you’ve brought him down so we can see him. He’s at the pub with Tom by the way.”

“Yes, he left me a note. This is a lovely house, Cormoran said you only live next door?” 

“Oh yes, Margaret, Ilsa’s mother, was my closest friend but she passed away five years ago, breast cancer.” 

Robin chatted easily as Joan asked her more about the details Strike had vaguely given them about the Shacklewell Ripper. Joan then attempted to give her a surreptitious personal interrogation while they both ate two delicious bowls of soup each. As Robin got up to make them tea, Joan was now on to the subject of Cormoran, “When they told us that he was in that explosion, my blood just rang cold but he’s done so well. Especially now that Charlotte is out of his life, hopefully once and for all.”

Robin felt a sudden urge to check that Cormoran wasn’t about to come through the door, but she didn’t try to stop Joan, instead she stayed quiet and placed the mug in front of the motherly women.

“All that woman ever did was drag him down, when Cormoran told us they were getting married…” Joan didn’t finish the sentence, Robin suspected the only words Joan could think of to describe her feelings were not words you could use in polite company, “Has he told you about his mother?”

Robin nodded, she found she couldn’t speak, as if not acknowledging the conversation using words would mean she wasn’t complicit in garnering so much information about Strike that he had not told her himself. 

“Well, when I met Charlotte and saw how she treated him, I couldn’t help but think how like Leda she was – troubled - you know how Leda died?” acknowledging another nod from Robin she continued, “Poor Cormoran has been through a lot, but he doesn’t complain just seems to get on with it but…” Joan struggled to put what she thought into words.

“Cormoran internalises his feeling too much?”

“Exactly Robin. I can see why they all love you. So, have you got a young man?” 

 

As the cab drove down Charing Cross Road, Robin leant forward to make sure the cab driver heard her, “Can you pull over here please? I need to walk,” she told Strike. 

It was a busy Friday night and there were still plenty of people on the streets making their way to the bars and clubs in Soho or home from the theatres of Shaftsbury Avenue. What Robin actually thought about Charlotte’s phone call she did not say. Charlotte was clearly unhinged. The anger had started to bubble up as she heard Charlotte ask whether anyone was with Strike. His answer was perfunctory – a simple yes. No explanation given. Deep down she knew this was the best way to deal with Charlotte, starving her of information. But, Charlotte had continued regardless. She thought she could call Strike out of the blue and he would be, by then, desperate enough to jump when she clicked her fingers. Well, Robin thought, you are not letting yourself enter into a battle over Strike with another woman. The battle was already fucking won. 

Once Strike had exited the car and reached the pavement she took his hand, “Look, the last thing I want to do is talk about Charlotte when we get back to the flat, so can we just do it now.”

Strike could almost feel the anger vibrating in Robin as they began walking past an ornate theatre with its twinkly lights and towards Denmark Street, he took the phone back out “I’m going to delete and block her number otherwise she’ll be doing this forever. And no – this isn’t just for your benefit. If I’m not careful you’ll be investigating my bloody murder but at least you’ll know where to look first.”

“Don’t even joke about it! I mean she’s having a child with Ross and calling you. What does she think she’s even going to achieve?” She thought this may have been a better way to make her point, rather than suggest to Strike that Charlotte be put into the ‘nutter’ draw as he called it or that he would invariably go back to her now.

Robin was right, Strike thought, this evening had hit with more clarity about the nature of his relationship with Charlotte. She had crossed a line if she thought that this was the way to win Strike back. To again use a pregnancy to try to torture him. The idea of any kind of torture was actually pretty abhorrent to him. He thought back to Robin’s client whose husband was clearly a masochist. Had that been the basis of their relationship, Charlotte would administer the pain and then what - he had enjoyed it? No. But, it had perhaps intensified those wondrous moments that had glowed in his memory of the ashes of their relationship.

With Charlotte, he had focused on her beauty and the more attractive parts of her character. It had been the same with his own mother, ignoring the instability she brought to their lives had made his focus on the love and approval she gave him more intense. It was almost fucking Freudian – it had certainly been hard to face up to. The more erratic Charlotte’s behaviour the need to protect her became stronger. And Charlotte had played that weakness for as long as she could?

Did Charlotte have any real power over him anymore, compared to the woman now practically pulling him down the street? Robin, like him, had faced an unimaginable traumatic experience which had changed her path in life but she had still found the strength of character to fight against a debilitating breakdown, her disapproving ex-fiancé, family and had done everything she could to spite his own over-protective nature and occasional self-sabotage, to follow her ambition. Who, like him, pursued the truth, sometimes recklessly but always with fascination and insightfulness. 

Together, Strike thought, they had both achieved success and even though he did not court it or enjoy it, fame, within his own right. He considered the course of their relationship, from her being unwanted and inconvenient to becoming his strongest asset and then finally he had admitted to himself that however much he tried to stop it, she was irrevocably under his skin. Already, there were many more luminous moments and the dark clouds that had threatened real damage to their relationship, had dissipated with both of them accepting responsibility. 

He stopped walking and the speed at which Robin kept going jolted her so he had to pull her towards him to stop her from falling on her spike heels. He caught her with both hands, pulling her into an embrace, both remembering when they had first met. Strike grinned down at her and Robin reached up to his jawline before their lips met in a soft kiss.

Strike moved his lips to her ear, “Robin, I love you. Remember what I said – the best thing to ever happen to me.”

She looked at him with some caution, “I doubt you can remember but that night you got drunk when you found out about Charlotte’s engagement, you told me about your Kairos moment with her,” she said.

“Okay,” he felt the air leave his lungs, he hadn’t remembered that, “but that was my moment with her Robin. I’ll have you know that from my experience, you can have more than one,” he grinned at her, “with you I can’t choose my favourite one. It could be nearly killing you on the stairs, not the most obvious life-changing moment at the time but looking back on it…”

“It was like lightning, Strike,” she giggled, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Ha -very funny!” he said sardonically.

“Or was it at the wedding when you came in and threw the flowers to the ground to stop me marrying Matthew?”

“Oh, is that what happened? I thought you saw my sexy body and handsome face and decided it was me you had to be with.”

“Really?” She laughed, “I want to get you back to the flat,” she began to turn towards Denmark Street.

“Wait, there’s one more thing.”

She tilted her head inquisitively.

“What I said about not wanting children – “

“I kind of knew that already Cormoran,” she went stiff in his arms again. 

His comment about never wanting children had not surprised her but the vehemence of it had. She knew his own childhood had been unconventional and his father had chosen to forgo a relationship with his son. But he had an Aunt and Uncle who had treated Strike and Lucy as their own and his mother had loved them even if she didn’t always put them first. Clearly, Strike didn’t believe he knew how to be a father. She had no intention of pressuring him either. She was at the start of a career she loved, she wasn’t in any rush. Although, if he was going to tell her he really didn’t want them ever, could she sacrifice her own needs? 

“The thing is, do you remember I told you about my old girlfriend Tracy, as far as she knew that was why we broke up. But, really it was because I was still in love with Charlotte.”

“Okay…” Robin braced herself.

“Then when Charlotte told me she was pregnant – that first time – I was actually happy. I don’t know if you’ve noticed Robin but sometimes I can close myself off to things that will make me happy,” he commented dryly.

“Mmm…I think it may have occurred to me.”

Then he became serious again, “Other people’s kids don’t inspire paternal emotions but the unexpectedness of it took me by surprise. I allowed myself to want it. It was my own child… Then it was gone. And if it had existed, it might not have even been mine. That was why I had to end it with Charlotte– it was the cruellest thing she could have done. It was like getting me to face the last insecurity I had and then poisoning it. So, I buried those feelings again.” 

Robin saw not just the man that towered over others, in size and ability but the vulnerability he carried and hid from the world with the utmost determination. She felt the sadness she had felt for him the first night he had told her about his heartbreak. Tears began to spark in her eyes.

“Robin, don’t bloody cry! Fuck, this is me supposed to be pledging my undying love to you. I’ll get to the point before this turns into a complete bloody fuck up.” Strike dropped his arms putting his hands in the pockets of his coat.

“Cormoran?” 

He looked back up at her from under his heavy eyebrows and lifted his mouth into that familiar half smile, he was holding something out to her. 

She was confused by the sudden charge in the air, “What’s…?” and she looked down. 

In his large palm was a small platinum circle of verdant green sapphires and silvery diamonds, “Now before you get excited it’s not an engagement ring. I was thinking that perhaps a month from now, if you felt like I do, that there was no one else in the world that was more perfect for me than you. I could put on my new suit - I know you think I look sexy in it…” At this, she had laughed and the tears she was trying to restrain streaked her cheeks, Strike wiped them away with his thumb, “You could wear your green dress and we could go to Camden Registry Office and…well…get married. I want all of it with you Robin – everything.”

 

On the first night in Cornwall, Robin had climbed back into the bed at 10 o’clock after having a bath. Cormoran hadn’t yet returned from the pub and she couldn’t help but think that he was trying to avoid her. After she’d kissed him, in what had once been her bedroom in Masham, he hadn’t touched her once. Her face felt hot as she remembered how, after a few stunned seconds, his lips had moved against hers, pressing heavily and his hand had gripped the hair at the nape of her neck, while his other hand had rubbed upwards along her spine, pulling her closer to him before falling to the curve of her waist and round to grasp her so their bodies pushed against each other. 

It had been thrilling yet the burn was almost painful. She could still remember how it felt and she shivered. Then she heard the front door finally open and close softly. She couldn’t breathe as she heard Strike’s irregular steps through the kitchen and up the stairs. He seemed to stop briefly outside her bedroom door and then continue. The disappointment had been almost too hard to bear. Minutes later she heard the bath running. She was confused – Strike was certainly not the kind of man who was flustered around women. They seemed to love him and she knew of at least three very beautiful women he had slept with. What was wrong with her? 

And then it hit her – he was distancing himself from her because of the rape. 

She went cold and anger flashed in her mind. He was still trying to protect her even though she had made it clear to him she did not need that. Matthew had been the same. It was as if the attack had been against him. She’d had to listen to him swearing macho oaths such as, “If I ever get my hand on him I’ll…”, as if she needed him to defend her. She wanted to kill the bastard herself, she didn’t need him to take what was rightfully her anger. That was why she had taken the self-defence course, to channel the violent anger that began to flood her once the incapacitating numbness receded. So, perhaps it was better if she and Strike didn’t take this any further if he still couldn’t put it aside.

As she pummelled her pillows on the ruse of making herself more comfortable, something else occurred to her that made her burn, this time with shame and inadequacy. She had been with Matthew since school, he had been the only man she had been in a sexual relationship with. Perhaps, it was also this that was making Strike avoid her. Again, her knowledge tormented her with images of Strike and each of the women she actually knew of in several carnal arrangements. Did he think she would be crap in bed? Struck frigid by what had happened to her? It had been difficult to see herself as a sexual being again after the rape but Matthew was patient (or so she had thought) and kind, until eventually she was completely able to put it out of her mind and had enjoyed sex once again.

She had tried to sleep for perhaps half an hour but she had become so agitated she eventually sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side till her feet touched the floor. She felt silly now in the ankle length rose gold lace nightgown her best friends had given her at her hen do and tightened the belt to try and cover her cleavage. She decided she felt too warm and went over to the bi-fold doors leading to the balcony and pulled them open. Stepping into the cooler night air she breathed in the restoring sea air and exhaled heavily.

“Robin - are you alright?” Strike’s gruff voice came from the left of her. He was sitting in a chair on the balcony of the other bedroom, smoking, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, his crutches lay next to him, “I thought you were asleep – did I wake you?” looking at her sideways. She looked beautiful in the nightgown, warm, golden and very sexy. He could tell she was annoyed with him though, probably because he had left her alone for most of the time they had been here. 

“No – I was too hot,” she breathed as she did not want him to see her pulsating anger.

He chuckled at the unintended but true double meaning of her words and finally allowed himself to turn to face her, the full intensity of her beauty as she stood in the moonlight with the light from the bedroom behind her made him raise his eyebrows and his lips part but no sound came out, eventually he found his voice, “Sorry I was gone all evening, I couldn’t get away from the people in the pub. You didn’t come down?”

“Joan came around with some food, she made me some soup.” Robin explained.

“Gave you the third degree, did she?” 

“Something like that.” Robin smiled guiltily, eyes cast down as she had found the conversation equally interesting. However, Strike was clearly now disinterested in her so she tried to pull the two sides of her nightgown closer together and Strike believing her to feel uncomfortable averted his stare.

“I was thinking,” he began.

“Mmm…always dangerous,” she joked trying to disperse the tension.

“Tomorrow night we could go for dinner at the Tresanton.”

Excitement began to tingle the angry tension away in Robin’s chest, “Are you asking me out on a date Mr Strike?” she said walking over to the banister nearest him.

He shook his head and laughed again, “I think I am Ms Ellacott.”

She smiled at him, relieved.

She crossed her arms on the banister and leant forward, the moon was bright in the sky and stars glinted at her from their black bed. The garden was enclosed on either side by trees and then there was nothing but the village and the sea reflecting the light in sparkles. When she looked back at Strike, he was watching her again his eyes dark and serious. 

She realised she would have to make the first move and show him she was ready. She straightened up and picked up the end of her belt and pulled it. The nightgown was a wrap dress and both sides instantly fell away. She kept her eyes fixed on his as she didn’t want to give away any nervousness even though her insides were fluttering. Strike put his cigarette down and ground it into an ashtray beside him, his eyes followed the open drapes of the gown and he leant forward, his elbows on his knees. She shrugged a little until she felt the robe plummet to the floor and lifted her chin a little, proud of her sensuality. Then keeping her eyes on him for as long as possible, she walked back into the bedroom.


	6. Chapter 6

Since she had breathed out an astonished, “Yes…” on Charing Cross Road, they hadn’t spoken again. Robin had placed the ring in Strike’s breast pocket and laid her hand over it for a moment. Then they had begun to walk with little awareness of anything around them but with a joint determination to get back to the flat as quickly as possible. Robin held Strike’s hand in both of hers, clasping his arm against her body. 

Matthew’s proposal and their wedding had been everything old Robin had imagined she should want to maintain her regained feeling of safety. But working with Strike had given her the confidence and fulfilment to want the things she had been encouraged to put aside as the price for security. So, in the end she hadn’t wanted any of it apart from risk - her job and Strike. Marriage to Matthew would have felt like a trap. Buying her the green dress, walking into the church which stopped her wedding day, the change of lettering on the office door, the key to the studio flat and now the ring, were all demonstrative of Cormoran’s commitment to her. Strike’s proposal had felt completely different. It wasn’t accompanied by the pressure to please anyone but themselves. It wouldn’t be a safe or predictable course but his love alone was enough security. Her eyes only left Strike’s face occasionally to traverse the obstacles that occasionally stood in their way but then Robin would feel the irresistible pull of the elation in his eyes and smile. 

When they finally reached Denmark Street, Robin just managed to close the door to the lobby before Strike, who was waiting closely behind her, placed his hands on her waist, turned and pressed her against the wall. Her peals of laughter echoed around him in the small space. Strike tilted his face downwards until their foreheads touched but stopped with his mouth a breath away from hers and exhaled shakily. How the fuck had he ever believed it would be insanity to be with Robin? The ring lay waiting in his pocket. He ran his hands through the ends of her hair, tangling it around his fingertips. But, now a nagging doubt told him he wasn’t good enough for this talented and beautiful woman, that something would come along to sabotage his happiness. He pulled back from her.

Not receiving Strike’s attentions as she had anticipated when he had pushed himself against her into the shadows of the lobby, led Robin to examine the frown that was forming two deep lines between his brows. She felt her chest constrict as she scanned his strained expression for an answer to his sudden change of mood. Had he only asked her from some sense of misplaced duty? Strike’s eyes averted hers to stare into nothingness, his eyebrows pulled downwards, he clearly hoped she wouldn’t notice in the shadowy darkness of the hallway. She gently kissed the crook of the corner of his downturned mouth sweetly, nuzzling the soft bristles on his cheek hoping to coax him out of it, “What’s wrong?” Robin murmured. 

She had been so frustrated with the ways Strike had tried to keep her at a distance in the past that she usually relished the times he would acquiesce and confide in her. When bleaker feelings clouded his face, Robin would have to steal herself, not against any emotional outburst from him but to make sure that the deep compassion she felt for him when he told her about the hardest moments of his life did not result in her tears. She felt sick reading in his eyes gloomy apprehension and fear. 

“I thought you might say no….” he muttered.

She finally allowed herself to breathe, this was something she could fix, “You’re never going to stop fishing are you!” She placed one hand at the back of his head and pulled his mouth towards hers, seeing one side curve upwards just before their lips met. Her fingernails raked through the beard on his cheek to hold his head at a delicious angle. When she pulled back he was looking at her from beneath his thick lashes and his eyes had darkened, his moment of doubt had passed.

With one hand Strike ran his fingertips along the braid at her hairline and then along her jawline. He began to trail kisses along her throat, sliding his other hand from her waist and over the gentle curve of her bottom. He then splayed his fingers under her thigh, lifting her knee to his waist and pulling her closer to him. Robin angled her head back in response as she savoured the tingly and warm ache that was stirring within her, she felt him hard against her and responded on impulse, twisting her hips to grind into him. Her fingers gripped the thick curls of his hair as little shivers rippled across her skin.

Strike’s lips traced the inside of the neckline of her dress and his hands slid under the skirt of her dress. He stroked his fingers over the soft slippery silk and fine lace of the knickers encasing her, swearing gruffly to himself as he realised how ready for him she already was. Robin let a sigh escape and his fingers slipped under the elasticated edge. She bit her lower lip as Strike began to stroke and knead her soft, wet folds. She slid her hands round to his cheeks and pulled his face back to hers. Robin’s pale pink lips were parted, anticipating the taste of his mouth before she kissed his upper lip. As they explored each other’s mouths, she rolled her hips as his long finger glided inside her of her and he bent it to find that spot until Strike could feel her legs going weak. 

He slid down to kneel on his left knee and pulled his hand away to lift her skirt higher, pushing her leg up until she hooked her knee over his shoulder. Her breath caught as she felt the short hair of his beard tickle her inner thigh then she was almost gasping as he sucked, licked and teased her with his tongue, gripping her behind, pulling her closer to him as the feeling became too intense and she automatically eased away from him. 

“No...not yet.” Robin breathed.

He looked up at her, his eyes almost black and smiled lazily, “You’re going to make me walk up all those stairs?” he had replaced his mouth with his fingers again and he stood to his full height.

Robin squeezed her eyes shut and forced a single word as the rising overwhelming feeling deep inside her threatened, “Yes…” as he caressed the back of her head with his free hand, “Cormoran…” she was determined, “Get upstairs.”

Robin kept hold of Strike’s hand as she led him up the stairs but at the first landing he grasped her around her shoulders, pulling her back against him and caressing her body as his lips found their way into her hair, onto her throat and as he turned her to face him, her mouth. Robin unbuttoned the jacket he wore inside his coat and had started on the top buttons of his shirt slipping her fingers inside and running her knuckles over the soft hair that covered his chest – then she remembered Crowdy’s office. He may have CCTV pointing straight at them and this was a show she didn’t want that creep to see. She pulled her mouth away from Strike’s and again extricated herself from his arms, “We have five more landings to get up yet…” Then she turned, letting go of his hand and ran up the stairs leaving him grumbling as he pulled himself up. 

She did not completely leave him to get up the stairs alone. As she stood on the next landing she described the things she would promise to do to him if he made it up the stairs. Both of them laughing as Robin removed one piece of unimportant clothing after another and threw it at him, her scarf, her jacket, one boot. Suddenly, as Strike’s prosthetic touched the landing of the office he seemed to twist and bent over roaring with pain, “Fuck!” 

“Cormoran? Are you alright? Cormoran?” Robin was quickly by his side, taking in his creased face as he grasped his knee, “I’m sorry! This is my fault.” She put her arm around his shoulders as he seemed to fight back the pain.

“Can you open the office door? I need to sit down for a minute,” Strike rasped.

“Sure,” she rushed to the door, then remembered the keys were in her jacket pocket so she returned to Strike whose face was still twisting in pain. Guilt stabbed in her chest as she took the jacket and her other items of clothing from him, she turned the key in the lock, dumping her things just inside the door and turned back to help him through the entrance. Once in the outer office, Strike limped toward the desk, it must have been bad as he was allowing Robin to hold him under the elbow so he could lean on her. Finally, as if drowning, he grasped for the edge of the desk and turned to sit on the edge holding his left knee. 

Robin stroked his back, “What can I do?” 

Strike’s arms darted around her and he suddenly stood, even lifting her and twisting around so she took his place on the desk and he towered over her, a wide smile on his lips as he looked down at her with hooded eyes.

“Cormoran!” Robin was deciding between being annoyed or amused, “Next time I’ll leave you…”

Strike stifled her words with a kiss, after a few beats she was kissing him back.

“Please Robin…” Robin laughed at his pathetic tone, as he nuzzled her hair and breathed in her scent, “…can’t wait anymore…” He trailed his lips to the place he had memorized below her ear, gently kissing and sucking until her arms wrapped round his soft midriff and he heard her sigh against his ear. 

He pulled back to shrug off his coat and jacket, throwing them on to the desk chair. Robin was already unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and he pulled it from his shoulders as she ran the flat of her palm over the hair on his chest, her other hand reached up to cup his jaw and she brushed her lips against his. There were no slow sensual kisses this time but instead he kissed her hard, frantically and she opened her mouth to him and his hot, delving, teasing kisses suggested to her what was to come. 

Robin’s hands skimmed over his stomach and grasped his belt buckle loosening it and the opening of his trousers. She pushed him away from her so she could kneel in front of him and take off his boots and the rest of his clothes. Office or not she wanted to feel his skin against hers. She ran her fingernails along both thighs as the rasp of her tongue licked the throbbing vein in his cock. His hands fell into her hair and he fisted it as her mouth closed over the tip. She pulled her lips over her teeth before gliding her mouth up and down. Strike rocked his hips back and forth as her tongue swirled around the tip and one of Robin’s hands slipped between his legs to massage his balls. He’d imagined flashes of this scenario but they had never lived up to the reality and he didn’t want it to end too quickly so he placed his hand under her chin, “Robin, stand up…” he rasped. As she withdrew her mouth from his cock she dragged her teeth along his length and felt him clench the muscles in his legs.

As she stood up she pressed kisses onto his hot skin, softly biting him occasionally so she could hear him growl at the back of his throat. His hands slipped down her shoulder, arms and then ran them over the curves at her waist and down over her bottoms. He bunched the hem of her skirt in his hands and began to slide it upwards. When Robin grasped the hem at her waist to pull it over her head, Strike’s hands stroked from her stomach upwards to the silk and lace that encased her breasts. His thumbs rubbed across her budding nipples and he breathed out a rush of air. His hands went to her back to unclasp her bra. As soon as the fabric was peeled from her skin, his mouth covered one nipple teasing her with his tongue, while his other hand rolled her nipple between thumb and finger. Robin pushed herself against his touch and her hands grasped the wide girth of his cock again and as she stroked her hand up and down his length, Strike’s hand palmed between her legs and his fingers slipped between her folds to find her clit. Soon they were straining against each other, “I don’t want to come yet…” Robin gasped.

Strike lifted his head to look at Robin, her lips were parted in a silent moan, his hand slowed and she was able to speak again, “Lie on the sofa,” she breathed.

“Please not the sofa!” Strike murmured but Robin took her hand in his and led him over, he kept his eyes on her and raised his eyebrow expectantly. She pushed him down onto the seat. While he removed his prosthesis, she held his attention and kept him hard by massaging the bud of her nipple while she slipped her other hand between her legs so as not to miss his delicious touch, “For fuck’s sake Robin get back here!” He demanded once his leg was free. He reached out to grasp the back of her thighs and pulled her between his legs, she let go of her nipple so Strike could take it into his mouth and suck her hard. His fingers joined hers and he thrusted two inside of her and she gasped, throwing her head back. He moved her over until she was sitting on the arm rest and he lifted her legs onto the seat, parting her legs and manoeuvring himself between them. His free hand clasped her bottom and he bent down so his mouth could join his hand. He sucked her clit and grazed her g-spot until she couldn’t stand it anymore and just wanted release, her thighs closed around his head as she came and he held her still as she was trying to twist away, her hips bucking forward. Gradually her body stilled and she sighed shakily. 

He lifted his head and sat up pushing himself back against the opposite arm rest, his right thigh and knee rested on the seat pad but his much longer leg, he bent and placed it beside Robin so his foot dangled off the arm she was sitting on. She took in his long body and waiting cock, biting her lip, already missing the feeling of him inside her. Strike had started to stroke his cock as he smiled up at Robin. She crawled over him until she was sitting on his thighs facing him, her feet each side of his chest. She placed her hand over his and began to rub his tip over her opening. Strike’s hand firmly pressed into her back as he lifted his pelvis towards her and Robin guided him in. She leant back to support herself as they began to rock together back and forth and Strike rubbed her clit with his thumb until she was nearly arching off of him. But he lifted his pelvis to stay with her, placing his other palm on her stomach to push her down. And then she was shuddering again, her hips grinding into her orgasm and Strike let himself go too as he felt her tighten and shatter around him. 

He stroked her calf as they both lay back waiting for their limbs to start working again. As she was the fittest it was no surprise that Robin was able to sit up and crawl into his arms. She lent her face against his so she could place tiny kisses at the corner of his mouth. 

“Why is your face wet?” Strike sat up cupping Robin’s face with his hands and examining her for signs of hurt.

“A few tears escaped I think,” she murmured embarrassed.

“What did I do?” concern clouded Strike’s face.

“Gave me the best orgasms of my entire life.” She giggled.

“I think I’m going to cry it took me this long!”

 

Robin felt the irritating pull of light on her eyelids and tried to move away from it but a weight on half her body held her down. Unwillingly she opened her eyes to see herself partially cradled by Strike’s right leg and his left leg, without the prosthetic was draped over hers. Strike’s foot was at the side of her head and hers rested on his chest. Images of the night came back to her as she looked around the shambles they had made of the office. It had been a night of ticking off the wish list they had individually formed in their imaginations while being professional and not using the office as an extension to their bedroom. A promise that had nearly lasted a year before they broke it in as many dirty ways as they could think of. 

She looked at the clock, they were still lying on the fake leather armchair where they had drifted off two hours ago, once they were without even the last vestiges of energy summoned after intermittent naps. She lifted her knee so the sole of her foot was on his chest, “Corm?”

She shook her foot and he spoke in an instant, “Yes?” his eyes were still closed.

Robin gently stroked her foot along his chest, “We have to get to Epping by eleven and this place is a mess.”

Strike dragged his eyes from Robin, rosy and glowing in the morning light. She was right, they had turned parts of the room upside down. Robin’s desk taking a particular hard hit from the memories replaying in his mind. He turned back to Robin and lifted an eyebrow at her and she slapped his calf, “We have two hours to get there.”

“Okay,” lifting her foot and kissing the sole, “You go and have a shower, I’ll sort this out.” He moved his left leg so Robin could ease herself up, she leant over and kissed him.

“I love you,” he told her.

“I should think so – oh! Where’s the ring?” She looked hopelessly around at the mess.

“It’s okay – should still be in my coat pocket.” 

“Well, put it in the safe? We’re going to need it,” she walked towards the door and then turned back to him at the threshold to the landing, “Love you too.”

His eyes drifted down her body as he watched her go and he pushed the thought out of his head of following her. They would never both fit in that shower – they had tried. In fact, he couldn’t think of a better reason for them to get a flat. Especially after she had said yes to him yesterday. 

He looked around for his prosthesis, noticing Robin had left it considerately propped up by the side of the sofa after she had taken it off. Once he could stand he looked around for his trousers and pulled them on, “Where to fucking start? Might be easier to just get a new office.”


End file.
